Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE GENIUS OF AFRICA, by ROBERT SOUTHEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE GENIUS OF AFRICA, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O thou who from the mountain's height
Last Line: There, genius, thou hast breathed the gales of death.
Subject(s): Africa; Genius; Revolutions; Slavery; U.s. - Race Relations; Serfs


O THOU, who from the mountain's height
Rollest down thy clouds with all their weight
Of waters to old Nile's majestic tide;
Or o'er the dark sepulchral plain,
Recallest Carthage in her ancient pride,
The mistress of the main;
Hear, Genius, hear thy children's cry!
Not always shouldst thou love to brood
Stern o'er the desert solitude,
Where seas of sand toss their hot surges high;
Nor, Genius, should the midnight song
Detain thee in some milder mood
The palmy plains among,
Where Gambia to the torches' light
Flows radiant through the awakened night.
Ah linger not to hear the song!
Genius, avenge thy children's wrong!
The demon Commerce on your shore
Pours all the horrors of his train:
And hark, where from the field of gore
Howls the hyena o'er the slain;
Lo! where the flaming village fires the skies!
Avenging Power, awake! arise!

Arise, thy children's wrongs redress!
Ah heed the mother's wretchedness,
When in the hot infectious air,
O'er her sick babe she bows opprest—
Ah hear her when the Christians tear
The drooping infant from her breast;
Whelmed in the waters he shall rest!
Hear thou the wretched mother's cries,
Avenging Power, awake! arise!

By the rank infected air
That taints those dungeons of despair,
By those who there imprisoned die,
Where the black herd promiscuous lie
By the scourges blackened o'er,
And stiff and hard with human gore,
By every groan of deep distress,
By every curse of wretchedness,
By all the train of crimes that flow
From the hopelessness of woe,
By every drop of blood bespilt,
By Afric's wrongs and Europe's guilt,
Awake! arise! avenge!

And thou hast heard: and o'er their blood-fed plains
Swept thine avenging hurricanes;
And bade thy storms, with whirlwind roar,
Dash their proud navies on the shore;
And where their armies claimed the fight,
Withered the warrior's might;
And o'er the unholy host, with baneful breath,
There, Genius, thou hast breathed the gales of death.





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